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It didn’t stop her. She swung at his face with her free hand, fingernails clawing and drawing a swipe of blood before he caught that wrist as well, smacking it up onto the stone above her.
“Damn it. Calm down, Vic.”
“Calm? You want bloody calm when you kidnapped two of my aunts and came after me to use me as your little pawn? And you want me to damn wellcalm down?”
He leaned in farther, his seething words flooding her face. “I want you to do exactly that.”
“Never.” She kicked out with her right leg, her knee going up hard into his ballocks.
He dropped her wrists, doubling over, and she darted to the left, scrambling for the door.
Too slow.
He was on her in an instant, grabbing her about the waist and charging across the room to toss her onto the bed. Landing hard on her back, she tried to twist around to scramble away, but before she could escape, his hands clamped onto her arms, his knees pressing down on top of her thighs, pinning her to the bed.
He hovered over her, rage palpitating in his eyes with every breath he took. Yet he lingered, motionless above her. A drop of blood from his neck dripped, landing on her chin.
Heaving breath after breath, she squirmed, trying to wiggle free, a scream breaking loose. But no one would hear her. No one was in this wing of the castle.
His knees pressed harder onto her thighs at her resistance, grinding more of his weight against the muscle and bone. Heaven help her, her legs were going to break under the mass of him.
No. No. No.
How could she let this happen—any of it? She was a stupid girl, just like her father thought. Naïve and so easy to manipulate.
And the sob of that realization hit her suddenly, threatening upward until she couldn’t hold it back.
She hadn’t been saving Eva. She’d been condemning her with every step she’d taken with this man—with this demon. And now the monster was deep in the safety of Seahorn, ready to ruin them all. With Jules. Sloane. The children.
And she’dinvited him in.
Sob after sob twisted with rage from her throat, her body convulsing with each and every exhale of them until she couldn’t see, couldn’t think.
“Vic.”
“Vic.”
“Vic.”
She ignored his voice for long minutes. Her name from his lips again and again. Utterings that meant nothing except for pain. Every exhale of her name a knife slicing into her, over and over, ripping her body to shreds.
“Vic.” Keeping one hand clamped around both of her wrists above her head, his right hand slid onto the side of her face, his thumb swiping at the sheen of moisture from her tears.
Her head jerked deep into the mattress, trying to escape his touch. He didn’t let her, his fingers, one by one, clearing away the tears from one side of her face, then the other.
“Vic.” His voice had sunken, low and raw and soft. So very soft.
As much as she wanted to keep her eyes closed, hiding away in the darkness until death took her, that wasn’t practical. It was selfish. Selfish when Eva and Torrie were being held somewhere—maybe even dead.
Her heart stopped at the possibility. No. She wouldn’t allow that thought. Hadn’t allowed herself up until this point to imagine it, and she couldn’t start now. Eva wasn’t dead. Torrie wasn’t dead.
They were missing. That was all.
And the man above her was the key to finding them.
She had to convince him to help her.
Her eyes cracked open to find him watching her. Gone was the cold. The anger. His dark brown eyes only held concern mixed with a large dose of heart-wrenching pain.
